


Algor Mortis

by Just_Mad_Enough



Series: Negligible Senescence [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Sorry-not-sorry, even more angst, it's getting seriously bleak here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 23:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13669755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Mad_Enough/pseuds/Just_Mad_Enough
Summary: Algor mortis (Latin: algor—coldness; mortis—of death), the second stage of death, is the change in body temperature post mortem, until the ambient temperature is matched.





	Algor Mortis

**Author's Note:**

> Whoop! Next installment! So, some people hoped for me to write from different POVs. Since I already planned on doing that, hey, no problem!... Also, I seem to have some problem with formatting today. I've been trying to fix it for longer than I took me to write this part. Nothing works. So I'm sorry if it looks weird, I just hope it won't put you off reading. Ugh.

He's cold all the time now. There's something he was supposed to do, somewhere he was supposed to go, but damn it to all hell (pun  _fully_ intended), he couldn't remember.  

Not where or when or even who. Not even about himself, mostly. He knows he went to sleep, that he'd been exhausted and clammy from sweat, though not because he's been too warm.  

He sees blue eyes and blond hair and he knows it's important, but every time he's  _this_  close to getting a hold of his memories he starts to shiver, to feel the cold, and everything scatters and flees again.  

Then he's back to the cold and he drifts along a strange river with no water and no substance. 

 But it's alright. He can let go for now, stop chasing...anything. He still has his own name, and the blond hair and the blue eyes, and as long as he has that, he'll be fine. He's still Lucifer, and he never gives up. The cold will wake him up again in a while and he'll start anew. 

   
 

*** *** *** 

   
 

The first thing he's done after they came back from the funeral – and after he'd made sure that Chloe would be as alright as she can get right now, and Trixie could stay with his parents for a few days – was to visit a church.  

He's been up all night and by the time he reached it, Morning Mass was about to start. He sat in the last pew; joined the other people in the prayers, said all the right things at the right time and... it made him feel emptier than ever.  

It's only been a few hours since the Stories from Sunday School suddenly became History Lessons, and already he felt himself losing Faith. There's no Faith needed when one has proof, right? And what should he believe in anyway? 

 If you listen to The Book, Lucifer is the bad guy. Only... he couldn't see that. Sure the guy is... _was_  strange. Hedonistic and self-centered and sometimes like a child. And an ass, certainly. But  _evil_? No. Going from there, what else was not to be believed? What's that saying? The winners write the story? And Lucifer wasn't the winner.  

A failed Rebellion, Fallen and Banished. So someone else got to write the story, and who knows how it really happened anyway? He's not sure even Lucifer does anymore.  

There's stuff in his own life he can't quite recall anymore. Even important things –  _especially_  those. They got warped and changed by his own imagination, colored in by his emotions.  

He's pretty sure that Chloe hadn't actually given off light when she walked down the aisle. And there's no way that Trixie was the smartest, cutest, most beautiful baby ever, but his memory is telling him she was (still is).  

So he's sure it was the same for Lucifer. When Mass is over he just leaves. Doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't dip his fingers in the bowl of water, doesn't kneel before the Cross. It's all empty and... and no one is really listening anyway, right? He's been begging  _someone_  for days now.  

Prayer after Prayer after Prayer. First, for Chloe to be alright. And the kicker? The only one answering that Prayer was the Devil himself. And said Devil went and died for it, and after that, no one bothered to answer anymore. He helped to dig a grave, and he watched his ex-wife break.  

He saw a Demon breaking down in sobs so violent he thought she would never stop shaking and an Angel stand stoic and with no obvious feelings as his fucking  _brother_  is buried in an unmarked grave. He arrives home and stands there for a moment before straightening his shoulder and grabbing his trash can from the kitchen. 

 He wanders every room in the little flat, collects everything that has any connection to Religion. 

 A Bible and an old, wooden statue of the Holy Virgin Mary that had always had a place of honor in every living room he's ever called his. The necklace with the tiny, golden Cross that's living on his nightstand. A flask of Blessed Water his aunt had brought from Spain.  

Once he's found everything he brings the trash outside even though it won't be collected for another three days (and he can appreciate the irony there, even though there's not much else  _to_  appreciate at the moment).  

He just... can't have any of that in his home anymore. Then, he goes to bed. He wants to put his hands together and ask one more time. Lucifer is not his best friend, and he barely gets along with him on the best of days but...but.  

His daughter adores him, and he's pretty sure his ex-wife loves him more than she ever loved anyone aside from Trixie. He saved the lives of both of his favorite girls, likely more than once. He's pretty sure it's only thanks to him that he didn't lose his freedom  _or_  his job. 

He's going to miss his snide remarks, and he hates that he doesn't need to bring more pudding just so he can have  _one_  to himself. But his Faith has gone cold and dead just like the Devil, and he doesn't have a Prayer left.  

   
 

*** *** *** 

   
 

She's kept her practice closed ever since she helped with... well, ever since. All her adult life she's been working on  _helping_  people. Sure, she's not the kind of doctor to see to physical sickness or injuries, but in her eyes the mental health of people is just as important as anything else.  

And she'd made it her responsibility to help the people that came to her.  

And then Lucifer happened and she felt less and less proud. If it had just been sleeping with him (which, yeah, still unprofessional to a horrible degree, but she's come to realize that sex had never been anything personal for Lucifer, so she could forgive herself easily enough there). But no.  

She went ahead and became his friend, and became more and more involved in his existence. Becoming friends with Maze and Chloe and... all of it.  

She should've either quit being his therapist or his friend. Or both, after she learned the truth. She should've known that it wouldn't end well. 

And now... now he's gone, and it's her fault. She'd known it wasn't a good idea, that she hadn't tried hard enough to talk him out of it. But at the very least, she should've kept an eye on him.  

She'd  _seen_  how bad he looked after they got him back. How exhausted and beat. Instead she'd been having a talk with his mother and never even noticed when he went away... when he died.  

So the practice is closed because there's no way she can deal with patients, no way she can try to help anyone when she can't stop shaking and crying and can't even help  _herself_. When she feels cold down to her very soul, and so, so guilty. 

She's glad for the guilt, at least. Considering what Lucifer had been telling her about hell, that's exactly where her guilt would carry her after her time was up. Maybe he'd come and find her after a while. She could apologize to him. Beg forgiveness for letting him down. 

 Keep him company. Yeah. That would be nice. Now she just needs to stop shaking.  

This is LA. There's no way she should be cold. 

   
 

*** *** *** 

   
 

He'd been right, before. Whenever  _before_  was. He doesn't know. Time is gone, has no meaning.  

And he thinks he lost another part of himself. He still has his name. There's... blond hair. And green.. no, blue eyes. They're blue, like the sky before noon is in full swing and washed the color to nearly white. But he's still so cold, and the river-that-isn't is ripping at him and steals things it has no right to steal. 

But as long as he can keep a hold of his name, he's going to be fine. He's... he's... The Lightbringer. Yes, that sounds right. He brings light. He's...Samael. 

   
 

*** END *** 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. Still nothing happy in sight. But in my defence, we're still more or less in the same time frame as the first two parts. I hope you liked it!


End file.
